Storm Siren

by Mary Weber

  Bears. Centipedes. Rock-elves. Tiger-peacocks.

  It’s like a whole new circus of strange, and I’m suddenly trying not to react to the hilariousness of it or to say anything that will earn me a firm slap.

  In the room’s center, an enormous candelabrum hangs over a map-covered table where more gentlemen are leaning and whispering. Beside them, facing away from me, is a woman. Adora, I presume.

  “Good luck,” Breck mutters, and her voice sounds weak and nervous for me, which is not at all comforting.

  “So here’s the wretched girl I rescued. Glad you finally decided to get up and show some decent appreciation.” Lady Adora turns her gold-lined eyes to me as she speaks—it’s the woman from yesterday at the slave market. Messy images jostle my mind until one memory slams into focus: I let loose a lightning storm on a despicable man there. And she stood watching.

  I inhale and nearly choke at the recollection before pulling it together.

  Lifting my chin, I assess this insane noblewoman. And concentrate on the fact that, today, she is dressed like a frog. An exquisitely beautiful frog.

  I cough to disguise my mockery. Clearly I’m in a loony house.

  Her curly hair is dyed emerald green, and on top of her head is a tiny hat sewn to look like frog eyes. The glittery green scales that make up her clothes clutch her legs and arms like a man’s hunting outfit, but with a bustle coming off the back to give the appearance of a dress. The recollection of her crazylike laughing in the lightning storm yesterday prickles my skin. She beckons me into the room with one hand while coldly flicking the other at the men to motion them out. I sneak a peek at Breck, but she’s already slipping away down the dark passage.

  “Don’t make me wait, girl,” Adora says in a crisp voice.

  The last of the gentlemen slides past me as I enter, warily eyeing the frog-woman. She crosses the room to stand in front of a large and ornately carved wood desk beneath one of the windows. With one hand resting on it and the other cupping her hip, she looks as I imagine a gorgeous fairy-elf might, if a fairy-elf were wearing a frog suit that clung to every detail of her slim frame.

  Drawing closer, I note that the makeup on her upper cheeks is painted on to resemble butterfly wings with tiny jewels dotting the edges. It’s the most incredible thing I’ve ever seen—and also the most disturbing. Partly because it makes her look like she ate the butterfly, and partly because something tells me those jewels are real. And just one of them would feed an entire peasant town for a year.

  “Well? Do you speak? Or did I purchase a fool mute?”

  I straighten my shoulders and level my gaze at her like I do with all new owners. It’s better they know up front what I’m made of—mainly what I will and, more importantly, won’t tolerate. “I speak. When I need to.”

  “Name?”

  “Nym. And I’m not a fool.”

  “Properly raised slaves would’ve said thank you by now. So yes, you are a fool.”

  “Thank you,” I say acidly and try not to choke as it comes out. Charming. I wonder if she wants me to curtsy too. Because I won’t.

  Adora waves her hand and walks around to stand behind her desk and glare out the giant window, which, like the rest, encompasses a breathtaking view of rock roses nestled among lynden shrubs on hills sloping into forest. All immersed in periwinkle light from the expansive evening sky.

  I wait.

  My new owner ignores me and taps her fingers on her hip in time to the waltz music filtering up from downstairs.

  A minute goes by. The perfume saturating the air is sticky sweet. Gagging. I edge nearer the window for the fresh air and steal a look at what’s below this side of the house. It’s a garden lit by hanging candle lanterns suspended over ponds, and grass, and a colorful assortment of lemon trees and flower bushes. A quick flash of a ferret-cat running and then it’s gone.

  Two men stand talking, one well-muscled and missing his shirt, with his head shaved bald. The other, with black skin the color of richest onyx, scowls at him. He must sense Adora because he suddenly raises his eyes and stares right at her. She waves and smiles flirtatiously with her brightly painted crimson lips. He nods, then shifts his gaze to me, narrowing his eyes. Then he drops his head, and his jagged black bangs hide his dark expression as he goes back to speaking with the bald boy. And I am left with the uncomfortable awareness that even from this distance, he is one of the most attractive men I have ever seen.

  Adora watches him for an elongated minute, almost to the point of her interest becoming awkward. I’m beginning to believe Breck about the harem. Except something tells me this dark-haired, dark-skinned man is someone Adora wants but hasn’t managed to get yet. Hmm. Good for him.

  “I assume you realize how serious your crime was yesterday.” Adora turns away from the window. “You should be on trial for murder right now.”

  Part of me has spent my entire life wishing I was already dead. So what does she want me to do—thank her that I’m not? I cut to the ugly chase of it. “What do you want from me?”

  She keeps talking as if I haven’t said a thing. “I spoke with the few authorities who were there and convinced them how hard it would be to prove your responsibility for the lightning strikes. The weather can be so finicky. Isn’t that right, Nym?” She raises a curvy eyebrow high on a forehead surrounded by greenish tufts of hair. “Which I assume is why you’ve never been found guilty before. The authorities obviously can’t vow you’re an Elemental, since we all know female versions don’t exist. Except . . .” She smiles coaxingly at me and spreads her hands out. “Here you are.”

  I look away. Something about her tone and expression makes my skin clammy. Like I’m waiting for the but in all of it. I’ve been through this enough times to know that the ax always falls, and a niggling tells me that her ax will cut sharper, deeper than that of the peasant owners who were more concerned with cheap labor than my dirty Elemental bloodline. The thought makes my stomach squirm. What does she want with me?

  “So that leaves me to wonder, what exactly should we do with you, pretty Elemental girl?”

  I narrow my eyes as I glance back at her. No comment.

  She purses her red lips in an expression that demands an answer.

  Fine. I shrug. “Put me to work in your kitchen. Your fields. Do whatever the litches you want.” Why is she asking? I’m a slave. More than that, she knows I’m an Elemental, and she’s rich enough not to have purchased me for the cheap price. Which means she’s already got something in mind.

  I hesitate. Then add, “Just don’t put me with children.”

  That weird, insane smile hitches the sides of Adora’s mouth. It sets off wrinkles along the painted butterfly lines of her face, and it suddenly occurs to me that she’s much older than I thought. Her fourth decade maybe?

  “Are you aware you killed that little redheaded girl yesterday? Your lightning struck her right after you took out her new master.” She looks closely at me and waits for my reaction.

  It’s swift in coming. Grief. Horror. Shock waves rock through me and knock the air from my chest so strong, I feel like I’m gasping and climbing and drowning all at once. My fists clench beside me. No. It’s not true. It can’t be.

  But I know it is.

  I’ve murdered a child.

  Anger burns my throat. I swallow, striving for composure while hating the fact that even now, in the midst of ruining a little girl’s life, I am selfish. I won’t let the new master see my weakness. The little girl deserves my grief, my sorrow, my apology, but I’ll do it alone. In private. Every day for the rest of my life.

  From Adora’s serious expression, she already knows it.

  She turns back to the window.

  “It must be painful living with a curse like that.”

  I can’t see her face so I don’t know if she’s truly sorry or if the pity in her voice is invented. It doesn’t matter. I want to get out of here. I want to run to my home that no longer exists among the snow. To say sorry t
o my dead mum and dad, and to find my way into Litchfell Forest where the bolcranes can have at me. “Here, monsters,” I’d say. “I kill innocent kids outright. Eat me.”

  “The war is getting worse, Nym.”

  I look up. What? What does that have to do with the little girl?

  “Bron’s attacks are increasing, and we’re losing men faster than we can handle. We keep up a good rally for our Faelen people, but our island kingdom’s on the brink of destruction.”

  I stare at the back of her head. The kingdoms of Bron and Faelen have been at war for a hundred years, and it’s well-known that Bron’s attacks have recently become brutal. But why is she talking to me about this?

  She spins around to face me. “Faelen has a matter of months before Bron takes over. Maybe less. Our king, Sedric, is coming to the party this evening to meet with those of us on his High Council, and when he gets here, by Faelen duty, I’m required to inform him of you. Of what you are. And of what you’ve done to one of his sweet child citizens. Which, as you’re well aware, the law for both is death.”

  Her eyes suddenly soften and that hint of a mentally unstable smile comes through. “However, what if I told you there’s a way you could atone for what you are?”

  I narrow my gaze. “There’s no such thing as atonement.”

  “Of course, you can never make up for the atrocities you’ve done. You’ll have to live with the guilty horror for the rest of your life. But what if there was a way you could actually live with yourself, by spending your life making up for it?”

  Right. “How?”

  “As a fourth-generation High Council member, I’m King Sedric’s most trusted advisor when it comes to war. I understand it, just as my father and his father did, and I understand what winning entails.”

  She pauses for dramatic effect before she steps toward me. “Your curse, Nym. If trained and controlled under the right conditions, you could become Faelen’s greatest weapon in the war.”

  I cringe at her word weapon. It’s synonymous with death. Perhaps she notices because she rephrases. “You’d be our greatest defense. Not a weapon used for harm, but for protecting your people, Nym. People whom, thus far, you’ve only managed to ruin and destroy.” Her voice takes on a seductive tone. “What if you could help save those people?”

  I don’t know what to say. I don’t believe her, nor do I believe that what she’s saying is possible. But something inside of me cracks open without my permission. In that place covering the shameful hole where my soul exists.

  I ignore it. “My curse can’t be controlled.”

  “I have a trainer here. He’s the best in the five kingdoms.” Adora’s eyelashes bat for the briefest second and I wonder if she’s referring to the man still outside the window, who’s now jousting with the bald guy. Her gaze follows my eyes and her expression turns stern. “You’d be surprised what he can do.”

  The tiniest ray of light slips through the internal fissure. A sputter of hope.

  Hope I can’t afford to bear. I shake my head. “I would kill him too.”

  Her tone turns impatient. “I’m willing to offer you a place to stay and learn, Nym. With a life far better than anything you’ve experienced in your pitiful excuse for one. In return, you’ll trust that I know what I’m talking about. As the richest landholder in Faelen, I’ve a strong interest in protecting my holdings, which is why I’ve spent years finding and training Uathúils. So yes, I do know what I’m talking about. You have until tomorrow morning to decide. Otherwise, I will be forced to turn you over to the king’s men first thing.” She sits down and begins scribbling what appears to be the last part of a letter and waits for my response.

  I’m stunned. This is so far beyond anything normal for a slave, let alone anything I’ve encountered, I don’t even know how to absorb her words. It’s as if I’ve just entered another kingdom where the rules have all changed, and instead of death or outright slavery, she’s offering me a form of redemption. It doesn’t make sense.

  Which means maybe there really is a way to control my curse.

  But even then . . . “Why?”

  “Because we need you, Nym. Faelen needs you. The weapons Bron is bringing against us cannot be fought by peasants on the ground. They’ll be annihilated before they know what hit them. We need power and nature on our side, and I believe you can give us that. You can bring the victory we need and protect what we hold dear.”

  “I doubt it.”

  “I’ve had my trainer, Eogan, work with other Uathúils before you, and they’re the only reason Faelen hasn’t fallen recently. But none of the ones he’s worked with have had your particular gifting, nor the magnitude of your powers. He’s currently training a boy, and when we think you’re both ready, you’ll step into the war. You will answer to me and only me, and you will do everything I ask, when I ask. And you won’t tell anyone what you are or what you can do—you’ll leave that to me as your owner.” Her gold-lined eyes slide coldly over mine. “Even when it comes to the king. Is that understood?”

  I bite my lip.

  Adora folds the document she’s been writing, then lifts it to her red lips and licks the edge. Her face suddenly flinches as if she’s pricked her tongue and a second later a drop of blood drops onto the bottom of the sheet, spreading out in a pattern that looks like the shape of the poison-alder flower. I’d think she’d done it on accident except she doesn’t look upset at all that it’s stained the pretty linen paper. She folds it over again with one hand while reaching for melting wax with the other.

  “As I said, you have until morning to make your decision. For tonight, you will stay with Breck and be allowed to observe the party from afar. You’re not to speak to anyone. Nor are you to display yourself in such a way that people would notice you exist. Are we clear?”

  “Fine.”

  “Breck!” she yells, her tone harsh and dismissive. I jump.

  The auburn-haired girl appears immediately. Was she listening at the door? “Yes, mum?”

  “Take Nym and see that she stays out of trouble. If she does anything . . . unfortunate, bring her to me.” She motions for us to go.

  I’m practically tripping over my own feet to get out of the perfume-infused, awkward room.

  “And, Nym?”

  I stop. Turn. “Yes?”

  “Stay away from the barn.”

  CHAPTER 5

  FANCY PEOPLE.

  Tons of them.

  Thick in embroidered costumes styled as everything from sin-eaters to exquisite fairy-animals topped with giant jewels and tiny hats that make their faces look even shinier. They arrive in a sea of glittery carriages, reflective of Faelen’s commoners only in the variety of beautiful ethnicities represented as they spill out one by one like jellyfish onto Adora’s estate steps. I’ve sat in an upstairs window for the last half hour describing each of them to Breck as they stand for exactly three minutes and visit with the frog-queen before entering the house.

  “Their kiss-up moment,” Breck calls it. “Where they get themselves in Adora’s good graces so she’ll invite ’em back again. Ridiculous if you ask me.” She shoves another bite of greasy party food in her mouth.

  “Nice to know groveling isn’t a respecter of status,” I mutter, and pass a rag over for her to wipe the butter and spices dripping off her chin.

  “Nah, but money is.”

  Another oily glob dribbles from the quail leg she’s chewing on and makes me cringe. The dinner upset my stomach after only a few bites—the rich flavors and fat so different from Faelen’s peasant porridge. No wonder half the guests are the size of whale cubs.

  Before tonight, the nicest food I ate was a slop of cheap wine and squirrel meat at a wedding for a village provost. At the time, Brea’s attempt to get in the groom’s good graces got me volunteered to clean the squatty pots after each use. The memory still makes me gag.

  “C’mon!” Breck gives me an impatient nudge. “What else is happening?”

  “The High Cou
rt and Castle are lit up.” I stare out at the eerie glow created by the lanterns over the drive. The city hovers like a fairy goblin above the island kingdom’s interior valley. More beautiful and strange and massive than I ever imagined—its white, pointy-roofed towers jutting up to touch the smoke blown in from the war front.

  “Not that.” Breck waves her hand and frowns. “I wanna know if King Sedric’s here.”

  A scarlet carriage is pulling up. “Not sure. Hold on.” I watch the coachmen climb down and wait for the occupant to emerge as I tug my dress sleeve back up onto my shoulder. The pettish thing keeps slipping off because my arms aren’t as long as Adora’s.

  The man’s stomach materializes ahead of his face. I crinkle my nose. “Is the king the size of a rhino-horse?”

  Breck grunts and bats a hand toward the back of my head before I can dodge. “Idiot. Have you ’onestly never seen yer king?”

  I shift in Adora’s dress and scoot away from Breck. I don’t like being struck, and her insults about my intelligence prick my nerves like the awful bone ribbing in this hand-me-down gown. “Have you?”

  “I may not ’ave seen ’im with my eyes, but I’ve heard enough to know what the man looks like.”

  “Well, where I’ve lived, no one but the magistrate sees the king. And no one has time to care. They’re too busy trying not to starve or freeze or lose their sons to war.”

  She should know this. She may live in a fancy house eating rich people’s food, but she’s been a peasant. And she’s a slave. I turn to her. “Why? Where did you live before?”

  “A bit here, a bit there. Colin an’ I—we made a smart way for ourselves being useful and such. Which is how we ended up here, right?”

  Colin again.

  “Is he a house servant like you, or does he work in the fields?”

  “He’s like what you’ll be.” She rises to her feet. “If you decide you wants to stay and work with Eogan.”